All The Time In The World
by skyskysparkles
Summary: For once, they have time. Ron reminisces on a drunken night.


Grimmauld Place

_Takes place a month or so after the war ends._

"Ronald Weasley! _Where have you been?" _

Ron winced as he tried to sneak up the stairs to his room. Busted.

He turned on his heel to face his mother. He loved her, but his Mum utterly terrified him sometimes. She was short in stature, but what she lacked in inches she made up for in wrath. Her face was red with anger, and her voice was loud enough to wake up the rest of the house.

His night had been filled with drinking fire-whiskey with Harry and Hermione, shots of a muggle liquid that Hermione called Vodka and dancing. Molly could be spared the details.

"Uh, um, I was with Harry and we lost track of time. I fell asleep on accident, I swear."

Since the war, the number of times that they had had genuine fun together had been at a minimum. Ron's family was grieving the death of Fred, Hermione had been trying to find her parents and Harry had been adjusting.

At the sound of Harry's name, Molly softened. She loved him like another son and Ron loved her for it.

"Make sure you don't wake George or Ginny on your way up."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief as he made his way up the stairs to his room. The alcohol had made him sore and sleepy. And confused. Hermione and himself had been so worried about everything else since the war ended that they hadn't had a conversation acknowledging their kiss in the chamber.

Neither of them was dumb- the small gestures here the there throughout their time on the run, to Hermione's reaction to him coming back and the way he protected her during the final battle, were all enough to tell that he had feelings for her that ran deeper and stronger than their friendship ever had. But last night was enough for Ron to be able to tell that neither of them knew how to begin that conversation. And he so badly wanted to have it.

Harry could have _his _happily ever after with his witch. Why couldn't he?

Climbing into bed had never felt so good. Except for maybe when they first came home after the war. But his brain was not switching off from her. Her bushy hair, and how surprisingly soft it felt beneath his fingers. Her dark, smooth, skin. Her laughter that sounded like music to his ears.

Yes, he was not daft. He was mad for her- even a blind man could see it.

"Stop it," He scolded himself. "She's not here."

She had taken up residence alongside Harry at Grimmauld Place. The walls all still screamed at her, and Kreacher was a foul git (not that she would ever say that- his Hermione was too kind to magical creatures for that) but she put it aside to check in on Harry. It was clear as day that he needed someone to make sure he was eating and drinking and just coping with it all. And she needed someone to occupy her time so she didn't drive herself mad trying to find her parents or worry about the state of the world.

Dear Godric, he wished she was there, though. They had all fallen asleep in the same room. Harry was on a couch, and Ron (even in a drunken stupor) had decided that Hermione deserved a mattress. Harry had been long gone before this argument began.

"Ron, I am fine. You take the mattress. I can take the floor!"

He looked at her like she had just killed his owl.

"You will do no such thing!" He all but hissed back, offended that she thought he would let her sleep on the floor. He was a feminist, having been raised by Molly and tossed around by the likes of the brightest witch of their age and Ginny. But he was also a gentleman. And his father had taught him better than to let a lady sleep on the floor.

There were many other much more logical things that the duo could have done, like transfigure another mattress or pull another one down from one of the bedrooms, or have one of them sleep on the other couch, but they had settled for sharing.

They were turned on their sides, facing each other with little but a few centimetres between them.

"How's he going?" Ron nodded towards Harry.

"He's not doing too great. Most nights he wakes up screaming from something or other. It's not pleasant." The concern in her eyes for their friend was evident. "I just wish there was more we could do."

"Have you tried a dreamless sleep potion?" Ron asked her, getting comfortable.

"No. He said he's fine and I don't want to push."

The two settled for a moment, just looking at each other.

_Merlin, she's gorgeous _he had been thinking to himself when he thought it was alright to reach out to her and take her by the waist. Their legs tangled together. Her eyes had widened in surprise and he was regretting his decision before she boldly moved her own hands to the back of his neck and brought her lips to his.

They moved like they had all the time in the world because for once they did. It was unlike their chamber kiss where they could put it down to the heat of the moment or an accident. They weren't rushed. There was no one's life depending on them. There was just the here and now and Ron felt great revelling in it.

He pulled away slightly before Hermione pulled him back in. He could feel the shirt she had borrowed from him earlier on in the week disguising her body. He took notice of how the blanket they had tossed over the top of themselves had not quite reached his feet, but it was alright because she was so warm. Her lips were so soft, and they tasted like fire-whiskey. And it was a problem.

He pulled back more definitively this time. Hermione's brows furrowed in confusion.

"I- I want this, but I want this when we're both more, uh, sober."

She nodded in appreciation, tucking herself back into his chest comfortably. Her curls tickled his chin and she looked so peaceful dozing, that he took no notice of his own eyes drooping, too, before they closed.

It had been a good night. And Ron was all but bursting at the seams to see her again later, just the two of them, to sort things once and for all.


End file.
